


The Last of the Druids

by oathofmaestro



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adopted Hermione, Druid Hermione Granger, Eventual Smut, F/M, Gen, Grey Hermione Granger, Magic, Olde Magicks, Pureblood Hermione Granger, Sexual Content, Slow Burn, Slytherin Hermione, Slytherin Hermione Granger, Squibs, druid magic, fated pairs, grey hermione, olde magic, older men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:03:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24400996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oathofmaestro/pseuds/oathofmaestro
Summary: Magic is real.Magic is alive.Magic is sentient.Follow Hermione Granger as she steps into her heritage, claims her birthright, and knocks Wizarding Britain right onto it's knees.(slightly AU and definitely canon divergent.)
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Lucius Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Magic (Human Form)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 118





	The Last of the Druids

**Author's Note:**

> m/n: i almost did not want to post this piece... but, some things need to be written, and this is one of them. I do not own HP in any way, perhaps someday... but not today.

The letter from Hogwarts had arrived precisely when Hermione Granger had decided she was bored with her life.

At eleven, this seemed a preposterous idea – someone as young as she, already _bored_ with the minuscule _seconds, minutes, hours_ they had inhabited the Earth? _Absurd_.

It had been true, the truest of the truths that surrounded the girl… Hermione was weary, and she had not even started to live yet.

\--

Hermione had read and reread the letter nearly fifty times since the moment it had been handed to her by the one who had called herself Professor McGonagall -- and the more she skimmed the words on the page, the more she believed in them.

She had always been a bit wise beyond her years, too mature to make friends her age; but still too young to be considered nothing more than a child in most adult’s eyes.

Hermione could count on both hands how many times she had been called a _swot_ for being too intuitive, for knowing too much, thirsting for a knowledge that was way beyond her years… and while she knew these things, she had never much cared to not be this way.

It hurt, when she could not connect to her peers -- what with the strange happenings she had been passing off as coincidences in her youth, to being called every name from know-it-all to teacher’s pet –but, she finally had an answer for why she had felt to weary in the first place, why so many things now made sense.

Accidental magic had been leaking out of her at every opportunity, making itself known in the cracks of her everyday routine. She thought of the times when she had wanted rain, and the pipes burst; or the times she wished desperately for a friend on her walks home from school, only to be followed around by stray cats and neighborhood dogs that nipped at her heels in a playful manner until she was happy again.

It all made sense to Hermione, that she had been set apart, that she was magic – and that thought, made her swell with the happiness, the likes of which she had never felt.

So, she had made her arrangements, had gone to Diagon Alley with her parents in tow, had seen the wonders of Wizarding Britain, some delighting, some frightening her.

Her first encounter with a wand had left her breathless, and the wandmaker intrigued, for he had seen many Muggleborn’s with bright and shiny eyes, but he had never witnessed anyone like Hermione. She would never forget the way the cool, almost gentle breeze had poured from the tip of her wand… how she suddenly felt whole and amazed all at once.

No stranger to knowledge, Hermione had dived within her new magic books, and in them, she dug herself in deep, down to the very last detail. When the time came for her to start school, she was ready to begin her new life, to try her hands at friends, to feel alive without the feeling of dread she always felt.

Life, however, was a cruel mistress.

\--

By her fifth year at Hogwarts, Hermione was feeling weary once more.

When her mind would wander, she would think back to how starry eyed she had been as a child – entering the platform, saying goodbye to her parents until Christmas, being caught up in the wonders of all who surrounded her – until she was faced with the reality that wizards, were not much different than Muggles.

Once Hermione had boarded the train, she had tried to find somewhere to sit, somewhere to join in the conversation with some of her peers… but she was snubbed at every turn when she tried to interject, cliques already being formed without her being in one. 

So, she sat alone and found her solace in books as she always had, all the way to Scotland.

\--

In her memories, Hermione had been in awe of Hogwarts, any impressionable first year would. But she also remembered her sadness that had crept in as she watched her peers around her, making fast friends, and even faster memories.

There was commotion, she remembered, as well. A blonde-haired boy who spoke ill of a raven-haired boy and a freckled faced one, talks of superiority and other things she had never understood about boys.

In those moments, they were ushered along by the same Professor who had come to her those many months ago, and before the entire school, they began to be sorted in the houses they would call their home for seven years.

Hermione could remember how she felt when her name was called, how she felt when the hat grazed her and settled, how her ears had tingled when it spoken to her.

She had never told anyone what the hat had said to her, but she remembered her own look of surprise when it had called out her demise.

 **“SLYTHERIN!”** it had bellowed, cementing her fate for her in one fell swoop.

\--

Hermione’s formative years were not kind.

With the revelation that she had been placed in the house that essentially thought she was inferior in magic as well as standing, she had gone through the motions of being bullied, much as she had back in the Muggle world.

She was subject to their taunts and their insults, even amidst the points she gathered in earnest from all Professors alike, but nothing was ever good enough for these people she was forced to call ‘family’.

This essentially left Hermione with a crumbling mask and a hole in her heart, choosing to go about her days much like the ghosts of the castle.

She faded into obscurity, or at least something like it… and she would have kept it that way, if it meant she would not be so tired.

Magic, had other plans.

\--

It was here in the library where she found herself, up to her arms in spare parchment as she frantically tried to remove the ink she had spilled over her work for Professor Snape’s essay. He had called for the three uses of wolfsbane and she had been nearly done when her quill did not quite reach its destination.

She was just about to run to the lavatory to procure some towels to blot, when she heard someone, plain as day, whisper her name into her left ear.

Hermione spun around, eyes wild, brown curls whipping as she looked for the source of the culprit, convinced it was one of her house mates planning to ridicule her again. Admittedly, she had grown quite used to their teasing and stopped lashing out in anger after her second year and chose to disassociate whenever these things happened.

When no one stepped out of a cloak or started to giggle uncontrollably, she turned back to her mess and gasped audibly – the ink was gone from the table, her papers were upright, and her quill lay as if it had never even been moved. What intrigued her more, was the book that sat atop her papers, clearly old, but very well taken care of. Part of Hermione wanted to take the book to Madam Pince to have it examined, she did not trust that her peers had not purchased this from the Weasley Twins, and she did not want the consequences of touching any of those barmy things they made.

There was another part, though… the part of her that thirsted to lift its cover and discover the secrets within, to smell the binding of the book, to feel its words upon her skin… and it was this part that won over.

Hermione glanced around, before taking in the cover of the book, her head tilting slightly in her examination.

“ _The Last of the Druids…_ ” she read, blinking as she tried to find the author. When she found none, she gingerly lifted the cover and read the inscription there.

**_“For thine eyes, who see these pages_ **  
**_Know they are meant for thou_ **  
**_Our kind has died out,_ **  
**_You must be the saviour._ **

**_Repeat these words,_ **  
**_Daughter of Mine --_ **  
**_Bring honour to us once more:_ **  
  
**_I, who sees_ **  
**_I, who hears_ **  
**_Bare the weight, the responsibility_ **  
**_of those who came before me._ **  
**_I, who gives blood freely_ **  
**_I, who does so in remembrance of my line_ **  
**_I, who is Druid, in and out of time._ **  
**_So mote it be._ **  
**_So mote it be._ **  
**_So mote it be.”_ **

As Hermione read aloud, she did not notice the breeze that lifted her hair, or the sound of the trees that whistled in response to her words. She had not registered that she was no longer in the library, nor had she noticed the fen beside her, nor could she smell the heady scent that accompanied such places associated with the Earth.

As her eyes scanned the page, she was only aware of the sharp pain she felt from the palm of her hand and she jerked back suddenly, a fresh cut had formed there and before she could marvel at this, the book soaked up the blood she had left and sighed contentedly.

She only had seconds to cradle her hand in her other as she moved to close the book, determined to bring it to the librarian, only to be pulled under so fast to the abyss just out of her vision – then everything turned to black.

\--

Hermione woke with a start, fingers kneading at the grass beneath her. Her hand stilled as she tried to register the feeling, her thoughts coming back to her in a swirl of black mists. She had been in the library, that much she remembered… how had she ended up outside?

It was only when she looked up to see the table before her, and the shelves of books still standing that she realized that she had never left the library. Somehow, she was in between two worlds… perhaps two dimensions if she thought on the subject properly. Her amazement turned into full on wonder as she watched a Ravenclaw student pass by her table and keep walking, seemingly melting into nothingness once they met the barrier between.

Hermione rose then, brushing herself off and straightening herself out, and she swallowed to ground herself, finally taking in the scene around her. Brown eyes darted this way and that, trying to take in all the surroundings they set themselves upon. The smell of damp Earth tickled at her nostrils and she found herself wanting to walk forward into the fen, against her better judgement.

 _What will I see?_ Hermione wondered, the rational part of herself had asked. No one would answer, she knew, but she still wanted to know all the same.

 _Does it matter?_ She began again, and this time, her foot rose and fell, one in front of the other until she was all the way in the marshlands, springy soil beneath her brogues.

The air was magnificent. Hermione found herself taking a huge gulp of it, and it was absolutely intoxicating. Weaving her fingers through the air, she realized that she could feel the energy crackling at her fingertips, causing a smile to form along her lips.

“Where is this place?” Hermione said aloud, still walking and very much aware of the crunching of the grass beneath her feet. From what she could tell, it was morning in this fen, dew was covering almost everything in its kiss. On she went, stopping a few times to touch a tree branch, or to watch animals that crossed her batch. The animals were unafraid of her, and Hermione had nearly balked when a stag came within ten feet of her, his noble head bowing to her as if in greeting.

Eventually, she came to a clearing where a beautiful old Ankerwycke yew stood, and Hermione could not stop the gasp that left her at the sight of the tree. She remembered from an old book she read in her youth that these trees lived for more than 2,500 years and if that was any testament to this tree, it had clearly lived longer than that.

The moment she walked closer, Hermione started hearing whispering, and she recognized it as the voice in her ear, all those moments ago in the library at Hogwarts. She had walked so far since then, that the beacon of the desk was out of sight, but if she held any indignation of what was to come, Hermione did not show it.

Instead, she reached up run her hands through the leaves that wilted, smiling as she took in the feel of them, her eyes closing in a content sort of gesture.

**“You’re here.”**

The sound of someone speaking had Hermione nearly jumping out of her skin, and she whipped around towards the voice, her wand at the ready as she did so.

Her eyes came to focus near the base of the tree, there she saw something that seemed to be neither human, nor like anything else she could describe. The figure seemed to be swaying much like the branches of the yew, yet, Hermione did not recount seeing any feet attached to the figure.

“Who are you?” Hermione demanded, her wand still pointed directly at the apparition, and she willed herself not to shake, lest she give herself away.

In a flash, the figure was upon her, and before Hermione could utter a word, two fingers were pressed to her forehead, visions pulling her under.

**“It’s easier to show you, dear.”**

\--

_Black._

_Unyielding **Dark.**_

_There was **Nothing** , and there would be **Nothing** still._

_Sudden **Light.**_

_The **Earth** breathes, pregnant, heavy._

_There is **Chaos** , rampant._

_There is **Order,** there is **War**._

_There is **Magic**._

_The world was shaped, molded. How it came to be, no one was certain. What was sure, was that the Yew was first. It sprang from Earth and shook its branches, thousands of tendrils digging into deep, rich soil as it took its first breath._

_The Yew could not move, but It was content. As the Earth breathed new life into itself, the Yew watched. It saw the coming of the days, and the going of nights. It saw the Light as it reached to every corner, driving out the Chaos that plagued It._

_The Yew did not know how long it had watched, but It had seen all. It was there, when Earth birthed the animals, when it birthed the birds that took refuge in its trunk and branches._

_It was there, when the Earth birthed the two legged ones, shivering and naked as they were, but still beautiful, nonetheless._

_The Yew had seen how curious they were, how beloved they were by the Earth. The Yew had been there when the first generation was born, had been there when Magic bestowed his blessing on these creatures. Had seen them begin to live their lives, until the day they died._

_The Yew was a teacher. It taught the two legged ones how to control the Magic as It did, a Master that could not speak, and yet, all understood._

_When they were happy, the Yew was happy. Happiness can only last so long before something happens._

_It was for this reason that The Yew was there for the War and had seen what it could do._

_It was protected by the Earth, but the two legged ones still were able to break pieces of It off to keep themselves warm, to make their twiddling sticks out of, to see them die out after killing each other in Its presence. The Yew wanted to protect them, having seen so many in Its care, but no one could hear the Yew or Its pleas._

_Summoning enough Magic to become corporeal, The Yew turned into a shade of what looked human, all tan skin, with thick hair that swayed like autumn leaves. It set out then, wanting to make itself known in this world, to protect what It could of it._

_While It wandered, It lay with those It deemed It loved, sowing seeds when It could, leaving Its trace on this world. By the time The Yew returned to their original form back in the marshlands, news had spread across the earth of the race of Druids: ethereal demigods that wielded great power, almost too much power._

_The Yew slept then, Its task completed. It had not known that throughout Its rest, that others would kill for the blood of Its descendants, would wipe out whole colonies of Its worshippers. It was only when the last of Its line was dying out that it opened groggy eyes to the Chaos that had come back, and Its decision was clear._

\--

Hermione pulled back with a gasp, nearly hyperventilating as she backed away from the creature in front of her. The creature peered down at her curiously, amber eyes searching the dusky brown of her own.

“Please…” Hermione began, finally able to breath again. “I… don’t want to die…” she ground out, to which the creature smiled.

 **“I could never hurt you, Childe… Not when you are one of Mine.”** Came the reply, and it reminded Hermione of the way spring chill feels on your flesh, not unpleasant, but not without goose pimples.

“One of… yours?” Hermione blinked, which earned her a scoff from the creature. She bit her lip then to keep back the retort she wanted to give, but made no move to run, or ask another question. The creature took this as a sign that she wanted to know more and continued.

**“Why yes, girl… And, here I was thinking you were the brightest Witch of your age. If the vision did not help, then perhaps words will, hm?”**

At this, the creature moved toward Hermione, who in turn, stood very still, but still did not move from her spot. The creature brandished itself in a way that seemed like a jester showing off its movements, amber eyes boring up into Hermione’s once more.

 **“Daughter of Mine, Blood of my Blood, I beseech thee… Put an end to Chaos forever, and in doing so, save the world,”** The Yew spoke in low tones, standing up once again to face Hermione.

It took only one breath for Hermione to ask the burning question that lingered in the air, and as much as she did not want to do so, she knew it was necessary.

“Who are you?” came her shaky retort, and the creature laughed. Despite everything, Hermione quite liked the sound, the corners of her mouth lifting just slightly.

 **“Really, if it wasn’t obvious with the speech, or the visions, I don’t know how I’m ever going to get through to you.”** Said the creature as it huffed, clearly exasperated as she waved a willowy hand in the air.

**“I’m your Mother, girl.”**

Hermione took a step back then, feeling sick, but somehow already knowing the answer.

**“...and you, are the last Druid.”**

Oh.

Hermione turned to run, only to double over and retch up what had once been her breakfast, knees buckling as she promptly passed out.

**Author's Note:**

> well, here's hoping this is well received.  
> feel free to comment, if you liked it.  
> i'll be posting more soon.
> 
> until next time, 
> 
> ( maestro )


End file.
